Flying Paper Cranes
by OtakuLibra
Summary: Batou/Motoko, semi-sequel to Solitude. Set after Solid State Society. Batou and the Major trying to reconnect. Rated T for language. Sorry for the title. It's really awful.
1. You're Back

"You're back."

We're sitting in my office, and I'm thinking that it's strange. We'd usually be at the apartment on the floor below, or he'd go home and I'd go to the bar. I know what that made the others think about us, but it didn't bother me so much before I left. Now, though, I'm always hyper-aware of everyone's attention, and it's beginning to drive me crazy.

But still, here we are, and he's fixing me with a stare, those inhuman eyes that are attached to the most human person I know.

I sigh, wanting a drink or a smoke or something to get my mind off things. As if reading my mind (which I'm not convinced he isn't), Batou holds out a cigarette.

"Wanna smoke?" I nod, and he passes it to me, lighting it from between my lips. And I can't help thinking about the old days, more than two years ago now, when this scene would have been easy, would not have held this tension, this feeling that things will never be right between us. Not that I would be surprised. Batou doesn't have to forgive me. He _shouldn't_ have to forgive me. Just the fact that he's talking to me, that he's been able to even _look_ at me, should be enough. But it's not. It's never enough. I know that feeling. That's _exactly_ like it was before. It should have been enough, what we had. In our line of work, just both being alive should have been enough. But it never was. It never was.

"I'm back," I whisper though the smoke. For a minute, just a minute, I want to die. And then the next, the only thing I want to do is snuggle into his strong, kind, safe arms and never leave. Christ, did I just use the word "snuggle"? You're losing it, Kusanagi.

"Let's go." Batou stands, his thumb pointed at the door. "Cigarettes and alcohol's all I can handle tonight. C'mon."

Somehow, that's the first time I realize how much I must have hurt him.

I hesitate, and he knows it. I see the questions in his unreadable eyes that, for all their blankness, really are the windows to his soul. But they're unreadable because, once I see that soul I can't navigate through it. He doesn't seem all that complex. Most people just think he's a thug, and to be fair, he does look like one. But something underneath. . . for all my searching, I've never found something so human, not even in those of flesh and blood. Not even in Kuze.

And that's when he's finally gone. I never accepted his death until now; even when I returned to Section Nine. That, really, was more out of a feeling of duty than anything else. But that was then, this is now. Feelings change.

I realize something now, something I should have known before. You see, it's Batou. _He's _my humanity. He's my ghost. My. . . My soul. And I love him. Always have. Always, but also never.

I wonder if he thought of me, while I was away. I was missing, Batou. This is what I want to tell him, but lack the courage to actually say. But that's it. I was missing.

"Motoko." His voice says my real name, in that gruff way he has that makes him sound so tough. He should know better. I would see right through him, if only I wasn't so happy. He said my _name_. Not "Major," not my title. My name.

I smile, just a little. He puts his hand on my arm, just as he's done before, but this time it's different.

The cigarette falls from my lips and he steps on it, grinding a stain into the carpet.

"Motoko."

Breathing seems much harder than usual. "You crazy bastard," I manage to say, my voice sounding surprisingly calm, though my throat feels as if it's collapsing. "You fell in love with me, didn't you?" I don't know where either the words or the confidence come from, but I say it all the same. And there I go again, saying the one thing that'll ruin everything, add to the sadness between us.

His hand drops, and my skin immediately feels the contrast between my cold metal skin and the warm spot where his hand used to be.

"Batou—"

"Did you love him? Motoko, I. . ."

He goes home after that, not waiting for an answer I don't know how to give. I go the the bar. My first drink, I have my alcohol processor on. After that, I turn it off and get wasted.

Ishikawa picks me up later. I'm still drunk, too stubborn to put the processor back on. He doesn't say anything for awhile, which I'm glad of. I don't want lectures.

I get smokes from a convenience store. We sit in the car, smoking in silence. Finally Ishikawa flips on the radio, and Julie London's mournful voice fills the car.

"So," Ishikawa says. It's more of an exhalation than speech.

"Don't ask," I say. I don't want to talk. My brain is still swimming in alcohol, and I just want to sit here and suck down cancer sticks that'll never kill me and drink more than a flesh and blood person could without shooting his liver to hell.

"I'll take you to his place if you want," Ishikawa says.

"And who's that you're talking about." Hey, there's the outside chance he doesn't know.

"Don't play dumb." Damn old man sees right through me. "You were moping over that picture of you two as a happy cover family when I came in."

"Fuck you," I say, flicking cigarette ash on the armrest next to me. Ishikawa gives me a dirty look, but doesn't say anything.

"You want to go home, then?"

"No." That's the last place I want to be. Next to Batou's place. I haven't been home since I got back.

"I ain't taking you all over the damn city. You're too drunk to know what you want. I'm taking you home." He turns the car on. I try to protest, but my words are slurring and my mind can't figure out what it wants to say. So Ishikawa takes me home.

He tells me to take a bath and sober up. I don't want to, but the bastard sits in my kitchen until I do. The alcohol processor works fast. I miss the buzz. But at least Ishikawa leaves.

Though maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to get him out. Being alone here. . . I almost want to go get a six pack or something, but I really don't want to drink any more. Sleep, then.


	2. The Cranes

"You look like shit."

"Thanks, Batou, I appreciate that. Now could you do me a favor and leave me the hell alone?"

He does, so I can't be too mad at him, at least for now. I try to brush my hair and put on some makeup. I still look and feel like Batou said, though.

I'm buried under mountains of paperwork. Doesn't matter much now, what I look like. I won't be leaving this room for a long time.

And I don't. I'm not really sure how late it is when I hear a knock on my door.

It has to be Batou; he doesn't even wait for me to say anything. Then he's leaning over my desk, brushing my papers aside.

"What?" I don't mean to snap at him. Really I don' flinches, just a little, barely enough to see.

"About. . ."

"Don't worry—"

"I'm—"

"Just—"

He grabs my wrist. "Let's go."

I could hack his brain and make him let me go. I could just say No. Both of these occur to me. But I don't. Batou seems almost surprised by this. He's never been able to make me do anything. He still doesn't let go, though. Not that I really expected him to. even had I said, no, nothing would have broken that iron grip on my wrist but a brain hack, and I'm not even sure I could hack him right now.

"Batou. . ."

He stops now. His hand is still on my wrist, as if I'm a prisoner, as if I'll bolt if he lets go.

"Yeah?" For being so determined, his face is surprisingly soft as he turns to face me.

"What happened?" I'm not sure why I ask this, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"You left, Major." Shit, Major again.

"I. . ."

"You don't have to explain yourself. Dammit, Major, it doesn't matter. You're back. It's the goddamn job."

"Don't you pull that bullshit with me!" I hadn't meant to shout, but it is too late. Everyone should be home by now. No one should be able to hear. So I keep going, watching Batou try not to react. "Don't pretend you give a damn about the job. This isn't about that, and you know it. Don't try to pretend. Yeah, I'm back, and I fucking want you to leave me alone!"

"Oh, yeah, Major, sure. You think you're so good, so set apart from everyone, like you don't have to follow the rules. You mope around so goddamn much about not being human, but you don't want it, do you? You think you're so alone up there. Well let me tell you something, bitch—"

"Don't fuck with me, Batou. Don't you fuck with me!" I turn on my heel and fully intend to leave him there, but he shouts:

"Let me tell you something. I love you. I fucking love you!"

Tears? Is that what I'm feeling? But I don't cry. Cyborgs can't cry.

I don't even notice Batou catch up to me. I'm too busy crying ghost tears.

"I've always been here, Major. You don't have to stand up there on that hill all alone. Maybe you can. Maybe you really are that strong. But you don't have to." He starts laughing softly, in gasps like he's crying. But I know he isn't.

"Remember that night when my arm got blown off? We were at your apartment and that helicopter flew past. Remember when you were trapped with Kuze? Jesus, I'm such a fuckin' loser." He stops, dead serious now. I'm ready for a verbal beating, and boy do I get it.

"Did you even notice? Shit I'm such a goddamn puppy, following you around like you ever actually gave a shit. You're right, I guess. It never was about the job, was it? So I guess I'm leaving then. Maybe I'll go join the yakuza or something. Think they'd hire a government cyborg like me? I bet they would. That's more humanity than you've ever shown me."

He laughs again. "Well, good luck being human, Motoko. See ya."

I want to go after him. I want to run to him and tell him everything, but I'm not even sure he would listen. So I stand there, every second confirming what he already believes is true. I watch until I can't see him anymore. Then I run to the window and see him drive away.

Oh shit. He's gone. That was goodbye.

I hate myself for being so artificial. If I was more human. . . But I'm only a cold, unfeeling machine. I couldn't love him. He was right. I'm not capable of something like love.

I want to die, whatever that means for me.

So, once again, I go get drunk. It's the only thing that makes me feel human, getting too plastered to think. This time, though, I turn on my alcohol processor long enough to convince the bartender I'm sober enough to drink more. Then I turn it back off.

I don't call Ishikawa when I'm sick of drinking. I just want to be alone.

I stumble out onto the street and wander for awhile. Everything feels numb, and the world looks brighter.

After awhile, which feels like forever, I decide to go somewhere, but my brain doesn't really know where. I find myself in front of a door that I think is mine. But I pass out before I can go inside.

Next thing I know, Batou is with me. He's asking me what I'm doing. I tell him I don't know, but I can't hear my own voice.

"Are you okay?" he asks. I try to answer, but all I can think about is my headache and the fact that Batou's only wearing a pair of lounge pants. If I didn't know he was as metal as me I would be physically attracted to him. Of course, I do, and I'm not. There're other reasons I love him. But it's still distracting.

"Major, you're freakin' me out. What the hell is going on?" Batou's hands are gripping my shoulders, his face displaying the worry I've seen there so many times before. Batou. . .

"C'mon, Major." Panic. Batou never panics.

Goddamn does my head hurt.

"Okay, okay, come on, let's go inside." He's trying to be calm, but it's not very convincing. Still, he lifts me up and carries me inside, laying me down gently on the sofa, careful not to jar my head. Then he goes to make tea. His dog Gabriel puts her head on the couch beside me. I scratch behind her ears. She looks almost despondent.

The Batou calls her, and she perks up, racing into the kitchen.

"Drink," Batou orders when he returns. The tea is warm, but not too hot, and it clears my head a little. Batou gets me a blanket and I turn on my alcohol processor. The headache recedes.

"You look like shit," he says.

I laugh a little. "Where have I heard that before?"

"What'd you do?"

"Got drunk," I say hoarsely.

Batou sighs, sinking back into a chair across from me. Gabriel jumps onto his lap. He sighs again. "Get off, Gabu. I need a smoke."

Batou lights up, but this time he doesn't offer me one. I dig a pack out of my jacket pocked and search for a lighter. It's a futile search, so finally Batou tosses me a book of matches.

"Thanks."

"Meh."

"What're you so pissed off about?"

Batou stands, then thinks better of it and sits down again, and finally he stands and sits down next to me. "Nothin'. What'd you go and get me all worked up for?"

I laugh. "I don't know. I really don't know. I just wanted to feel. . . human, I guess."

Batou gets up to grab an ashtray. "Why're you so worried about that?"

Why? Of course he would ask that, the most difficult question he could everask, but the one with the simplest answer. And I know I have to give it.

"Cause I love you, Batou." I bite my lip, as if I could get my words back by doing so. But I've already spoken. I can only wait for his reaction.

"Motoko…" My heart would have skipped a beat if it was possible.

"Batou," is all I can say. "Batou."

"Are you—"

"Batou. . ."

"Don't fuck with me, Motoko. Are you—"

"Don't make me say it again."

"I. . ."

"Batou. . ."

"Motoko." He's so close. _Really_ close now, not like before. Now I can really touch him, hold his hand. He almost pulls away; I can feel it. I squeeze, making sure he knows it's okay. After so many years, it's all okay.

"I missed you," he says. Then he grips my shoulders, pulling me up and kissing me. I hardly feel his lips on mine. I feel sadness, loneliness, passion, love. I feel. . . humanity.

Batou pulls me on top of him, and we lay there in silence for awhile. His arms hold me to him, pressing my face into his chest as if to reassure himself that I'm really there.

"Motoko," he says, over and over. I know he's not used to saying my name, but it sounds so beautiful coming from him. "Motoko."

"Batou, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not. We screwed things up, you and me. But I'm not sorry." Batou's hand brushes my hair out of my face. He tugs a little, teasing, making sure I don't mope around too much.

He was right from the beginning, of course. I really don't deserve him, don't deserve his forgiveness, but he's giving it anyway. But here we are. And I'm not sorry. Because it was enough, in the end. It's enough now for us to just be together. And if tomorrow we both die, it won't matter. I won't be sorry then, either. It seems as if my whole life was building up to the moment I told him I loved him, and now that I have, now that we're here, there's only forward. There's only the future.

I used to be afraid. I used to wonder whether or not I was even human. The "fearless" Major, Queen Kong, doesn't exist. She never really did. Until now. And all the things I never wanted to show for fear of them no being real I can give the only person who really matters.

"I love you, Batou. So much."

"I know." He says this as if nothing has happened, as if everything has always been this. . . perfect. I think it's because he understands, even though he is stronger with it than I ever was.

There was a little girl who was me once. She knew a little boy who asked her to fold a paper crane for him. The girl never could, not until much later. She thought that was important, but it wasn't. Because she never let the cranes free. She hid them away, and, when it mattered most, she failed to set them free. So I will. I have. I can almost see them flying out of my heart, open at last. But of course, it doesn't matter that I'm opening it, because it was always his to begin with. And after all these years, he's taking it back.

Batou says, "I love you, too, Motoko, my guardian angel. I love you, too."

The cranes are gone, and it's only us, the way it always should have been.


End file.
